spanish bombs

( the view from the top of mount everest)

in this euro trip- there are no guarantees only some life mysteries and a couple of skateboarding maneuvers thrown in for fun. okay, the tides have been ebbing and flowing in the harshest of conditions. first, im sitting in balls soup , as its so fucking hot that my fingertips are sweating as i type this. the getting out of the airport mission and finding accommodations was a penultimate breaking point, both physically and of the will. we traversed the spanish subway system with ease thanks to the heavenly train cars which are the only air-conditioned areas in this whole country. we lugged our bags from hostel to hostel until my fatigue crept into my personal active brain and i refused to go any farther. i pulled , what a GI would call, bodily refusal. i simply found the first piece of shade and laid down with my bags tied around my ankle, so as not to be stolen (thieves are as common here as hookers in vegas), i achieved a proper 15 minute nap. the only sleep that this body had seen since 2 nights ago in a tent in england (in the rain with dripping water torture on my person). i awoke to a sweaty featch tugging at me in an apologetic fashion, 'you look so peaceful, i didn't want to wake you' he informs me that we have made contact with tyrannosaurus west, our mate from oz (who will be , herein, referred to as t-west) a quick cab saw us dropped off in paradise. t-west lives on a jetty between a harbor and the beach, not A beach, ,, THE beach. although his place (a 3rd floor walkup) was too small, too hot , full, full, full of dudes traveling like us, it was exactly like a cliché spanish living situation. no obligations , not a care in the world, the dude lays in bed with his wife, whom he'd wed the night of our arrival. (im not kidding, he had gotten married hours earlier) and has the cool beach breeze blowing into his window where any time of any day he will gaze out to topless and bottomless tan masses all just steps from his front door. upon arrival i noticed that a full can of ''rockstar'' had exploded and emptied into my bag with all of my clothes. im fucked. all 7 of the dudes im with are went swimming in the Mediterranean and my cast wont allow. there is this bit of rock formation that is the cool-guy marker, you evidently swim out to this island and claim your stake in the world as an adventurer. the middle of the day is truly a non operational heat, but around 4 you can begin to live a life of splendor , if you stay in the shade. what rad foods i'll eat and lazy adventures to have. there are couples making out in the street on every corner. when i skate down the sidewalk, usually i really have to look out for tiny children, because nothing would feel worse that crippling a lil kid with my recklessness, but here i only worry about the couples who are embraced in wonderment and i make a greater point to avoid them. this place is no joke, as i type this, there is a man six stories down on the street singing and playing some sort of organ, he thinks this is 1925. what?... six floors,, yes, we've moved now, a new locale... as the day grew long, my eyelids had a weightlifting competition with each-other. but this is barcelona and i must explore. we, a crew of now fourteen, travelled around the city for hours and hours on skateboard, in the heat, nothing seems real at this point, akin to some sort of psychedelic trip. i start to see buildings moving in on each-other, this has become a test of will. how much do i live skateboarding? what ive heard over the years, barcelona is a skaters paradise, you'll love it, you gotta go, there's everything there. every word rings true. it's like they built this city to skate. there are no cops. the massive construction, a beautification of anthemic proportion, was constructed all over this land for the 1992 olympics and is now barren and vacant. we own the playground. every stadium, every piece of sculpture, every stone in every perfectly molded and crafted embankment. there is free reign. those chumps sitting in london and liverpool and glasgow trying to skate some wooden box in the cold and rain. all suckers! why a skater would not move here is beyond me. knowing that there are paridisos out there and refuse to better their situation. im only really musing on this because i was just in england for so long and have the handy comparison. we finally ended our city tour into an eat down, just me and featch at a falafel place where we were obliged to share our table with these two dudes who politely carried on our conversations about collective consciousness and the self and reality, they were buddhists or something and they invited us to the drum circle on the beach but , as i was in a total state of delirium , my animal state could only function on the idea of food and sleep. so we gathered our things from t-wests and met up with reese the piece, who is sharing his home. his home being the 6th floor walkup. it might as well have been the great pyramid of ghiza, for at the end of this day with all of my bags ascension was on par with... , say..., mt. everest. the bad news; there is no internet here, no phone either. ill have to trek out and find a cafe to mail this and then get on the purchase of my ticket home. im so dirty, sweat, beach, sunscreen, this cast, im burnt. this is truly a sort of paradise but somehow i still long for home. even in the wake of this spain, this babylon, this barcelona.